Nothing to Give
by pradaloz
Summary: Smut, insecurity, and Zelda's inner monologue. (Character Study)


**Title:** Nothing to Give  
**Feedback to:** pradaloz00@yahoo.com  
**Classification:** A character study...with smut! Yay, smut!  
**Rating:** R  
**Summary:** Insecurity, smut, and Zelda's inner monologue.  
**Disclaimer:** All of the characters used herein are the creations and property of Nintendo. The author is not receiving any monetary compensation for this work.  


She's always been afraid of the dark. 

It's a silly, childish thing, and it embarrasses her to no end. But ever since she was a very small child beset by dreams of death and madness, the dark has been her enemy. 

It was in darkness that her visions hounded her, whispering promises of a bloody future. The visions hound her still, and every night she learns a little more about the day of her death, the day of her kingdom's death, the ways in which she will lose everything and everyone she holds dear. 

It was in darkness that Ganondorf slew her father, creeping up from behind to behead him in an unlit corridor. A little girl then, she had been shoved aside in the king's last attempt to protect her, only to be drenched in shower of his blood scant seconds later. She hadn't thought blood would be so hot, and if only she had tried a little harder, shouted a little louder, she might never have had to learn. She could have prevented it all; she knew that as she had fled from the Gerudo king into the black night. 

And it was in darkness that the sounds of her kingdom's suffering haunted her, drifting through the thin walls of a shack in Kakariko. A monster had ruled the land--_your land_--and all she could do was huddle in a corner as she waited for her guardian to return with news, listening to the unearthly howls of redeads and moblins rattle the windows. Wondering if Impa would ever return, if perhaps this would be the night that she would not. Hating herself for being more afraid of being left alone in the darkness than of learning that her almost-mother was dead. 

For if she's afraid of being in the dark, she's terrified of being left alone. 

So she says to him, "Don't leave." 

She's learned how to live with the fear. She's learned how to control it. After Ganondorf's defeat--_no thanks to you_--after the castle's reconstruction, she took her fear and placed it behind the strongest walls she could build. It cannot touch her during the day. It must not touch her when she must concentrate on her kingdom. And at night, she holds it at bay with nothing more substantial than the single flame of a lamp she keeps constantly lit beside her bed. 

_Your foolish false security._

But tonight the lamp was knocked over as she carelessly reached for a book beside it, wanting to show him something; she can't remember what. A slip of the hand against thin glass, and her safety toppled and shattered, plunging the room and her mind into primal darkness. 

So she says, "Don't leave," because she does not want to be alone with her guilt and memories. Because she hopes that his touch can draw out the shadows within her, that his body can shield her from the shadows without. And with nothing more than a brush of fingertips against her face, he promises not to abandon her to the night. 

He could be anybody, really, and all she needs is somebody, but he's not either. He is who he is just as she is who she is and what they are together will be, in the end, nothing. 

Perhaps that is why he stays. 

This thing they have is far from furtive. Everyone in the kingdom must know about it, must know that it was bound to happen. It is only logical, she supposes as she takes his hand, that two people who have fought the same battle and faced the same demons would seek the same kind of comfort from one another. It's need, perfectly natural, that is the reason why she wants him here and why he's willing to stay. Nothing more. 

It doesn't matter, she tells herself as she slides her dress over her head, because whatever it is they have between them is bound to end. The rest of the world does not cease to exist simply because two people want it to. There are alliances to be made that she will have to buy with her body, and battles to be fought that he will have to confront with his. Better, then, for it to be about need. 

Her clothes are gone, and she is bare to the night, cold and alone. Memory reaches out to her with its steely claws just as she reaches out to him, and not even the warmth of his skin against her own can drive it away. 

Strong hands glide down her form; soft lips kiss her face. He touches her everywhere, each caress making her writhe and burn and melt, but still not enough to banish the darkness completely. She moans and her muscles contract at the electric sensation of his fingers gliding across the sweaty expanse of her stomach, over the row of scars etched into her skin. 

_The flash of moonlight on silver as the glittering claws of the lizaldfos swoop out of the night to rake her abdomen. Fear and rage freezing her heart in her chest as she turns to see its empty eyes locked on her, seeking prey. Foolish to be out alone. Foolish to be out in the dark. Unforgivable to put the Triforce of Wisdom in such danger._

Her nails dig into his shoulders, deep enough to draw blood, and though she can't see it, she knows it must be there on her hands. A tiny amount, compared to that shed over the years. Shed because of her, of course, always because of her. What kind of monster is she, to demand so much blood? 

She bites her lip until she bleeds a little, too. 

Parting her thighs, he drags the pads of his fingertips almost carelessly and far too slowly towards the part of her that burns most intensely, the sensation banishing her ability to think at all. He touches her, and, Sweet Nayru, it's indescribable, she's on fire, it's searing her away from the inside, so brilliant it hurts. His name escapes her lips, broken and breathless. 

He looks up for the first time. As always, his eyes manage to gleam even in the absence of light. "Yes?" 

"Yes." Even more than she needs his touch, she needs the brightness that is him, and she needs it within her if she is to keep the demons at bay tonight. Not that she deserves it after what she's done. 

_"You threw the ocarina to the boy? You've killed us all, you stupid, stupid girl" Impa's voice shaking with anger and fear. _

"I'm sorry, Impa." Her own voice, thin and useless. 

"Sorry isn't going to save Hyrule!" 

And then the memory of the slap, the only time her guardian had ever struck her, the first time anyone had ever stuck her. Brilliant and sharp as steel, like a knife slicing through skin, sliding through flesh, entering her as swiftly as he enters her now on this black night. She gasps at the sudden pain. 

"Mmm, sorry," he mutters next to her ear. "Did I hurt--sorry." 

With one hand, she touches his face to quell his concern, and with the other, she presses against his back to bring him deeper within her. His breath hisses in between his teeth, and he presses his hot face into her neck, lips working against her skin to form words she'll never hear. She closes her eyes to the blackness hovering just beyond them, only to be confronted with the blackness of her own mind. 

_It's too dark. Please, Nayru, it's too dark._

"Please," she hears herself whisper--whimper--in a pathetic little voice, the same stupid little voice that had cried out in helpless fear as she watched this brightness battle something infinitely darker than this room could ever be. Watching, incapable of doing anything more. Great Din, but she's pathetic. She is so many things, and she could chant each in time with the rhythm of their bodies. 

Pathetic. 

Stupid. 

Monster. 

_Useless and foolish and helpless, please help me I need you please help me... _

"Love you," he gasps against her shoulder in the desperate voice of a dying man. "I love you." 

For one explosive moment, the light blinds her, and she screams. 

Through the dissipating haze of sensory onslaught, she can hear him breathe her name and feel him shudder in her arms. She holds onto him for a moment longer, until he shifts onto his side and pulls her against him. 

His breath is soft against her hair as he murmurs something she's not sure she wants to hear. 

Afraid of what he might say, she refuses to listen and instead lets her mind drift towards thoughts of the warmth of his body and the safety of his embrace, but nothing more. Nothing more, because this thing they have, it was not avoidable, it is not furtive, and it will not last. And one dark morning, she will wake up alone. 

She turns her gaze to the window and the world beyond, where the soft light of dawn is just beginning to ignite the sky. Victorious for one night, she watches the slender flames of the rising sun sear away the darkness of the horizon without and within. 

Night burning into day.   
  


**End.**


End file.
